


To The Drinking Point

by methylviolet10b



Category: Basil of Baker Street - All Media Types, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bad Days, Gen, Prompt Fic, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 16:19:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15222989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: Dawson has a day.





	To The Drinking Point

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Utterly ridiculous. A few hidden references to canon. And absolutely no beta. This was written in a huge rush. You have been warned.  
> Author's Notes: Written for the following prompt: Descriptive Phrase. Use one of the following in your work today. Bonus point if you use all of them! (And I did!) Broken blade / Police station / Rheumatoid arthritis / Secret society / Vox populi, vox dei / Danger zone / Performance issues / Rapid fire

Basil paused with his bow still on the violin-strings. “My dear Dawson, what has happened?”  
  
Doctor David Dawson was far too dignified and sturdy a mouse to do anything that might be truthfully called a flounce, but the way he made his way across the room and flung himself into his armchair evoked the word nonetheless. “What didn’t happen?” he groaned, burying his head in his paws.  
  
“Tell me.” Basil set down his violin and sat down in the armchair facing Dawson’s. “Come on, dear fellow, it can’t have been all that bad.”  
  
Dawson’s head jerked up. “Oh yes it could! You know I had rounds today.”  
  
“You usually enjoy them,” Basil murmured, aware that such mendacity tread perilously near the danger zone, but hoping it would encourage his friend to speak.  
  
“Not when it involves Professor Sanders and his household of odd characters.”  
  
“What, the hypochondriac expert on Chinese pottery who believes he suffers from rheumatoid arthritis?”  
  
“He does actually have gout in one paw,” Dawson allowed, “but between his belief that his ‘arthritis’ was brought on by a curse from a secret society…”  
  
“Really?” Basil perked his ears straight up at this. “What’s their name?”  
  
Dawson breathed out in a frustrated snort. “This time, he claimed it was the “Vox populi, vox Dei” Guild. Last time he brought this up, he said it was the Amateur Mendicant Society. Once he claimed it was the Girl Guides.”  
  
Basil’s whiskers quivered. “Oh dear.”  
  
“And he wanted to keep talking to me in his study even after a maid came running for my assistance!” Dawson shook his head in disgust. “I would have none of it, naturally, but followed the girl to the kitchen, where I found the cook had cut herself rather badly on a broken blade.”  
  
“What was a broken blade doing in the kitchen?” Basil wondered.  
  
“It wasn’t broken at first. She was trying to use a knife to section a particularly tough turnip, and it snapped. She wasn’t careful enough when trying to remove it.”  
  
“Well, at least that was a genuine injury in need of your talents. She’s fortunate you were paying a visit at the time.”  
  
“Yes, it was lucky, and I was very glad to get away from the Professor, believe me. I started a quiet conversation with her while cleaning and stitching her wound, to keep her distracted and help prevent her from thinking too much about the injury. But then she started telling me about her husband, the butler.”  
  
“Why would that be a problem?”  
  
“She wanted to discuss his performance issues,” Dawson said dryly. “Specifically, she wanted to know if there was anything I could prescribe to help prevent early and rapid…fire. Her words, not mine.”  
  
Basil could not completely hide his grin behind his paw. “Oh no!”  
  
“Oh yes! And what else could I say to the poor woman, except to explain that I’d need to examine him before I could prescribe anything, and that I would be back again on rounds in a week? So I’ve that to look forward to.” Dawson dropped his head back into his paws. “If I’m lucky, perhaps I’ll be arrested for something before the day. A nice interrogation in a police station sounds just lovely.”  
  
“Oh my dear, gallant Doctor.” Basil rested a comforting paw on Dawson’s shoulder. “I can’t agree that your being arrested would be an improvement, but with any luck, I’ll get a case that will require us both to take a long trip into the countryside.”  
  
Dawson sighed and looked up. “I need a cheese soufflé and a whiskey in the worst way, Basil.”  
  
“And you shall have them, my dear David. We have whiskey and soda in the gasogene, and if Mrs Judson can’t supply a soufflé for tea, we could always try dinner at Samson’s.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted July 8, 2018


End file.
